


A warm, beating heart

by Violetta_Valery



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Between Episodes, Dana Scully Angst, Declarations Of Love, Episode: s06e18 Milagro, Episode: s06e19 The Unnatural, F/M, Fantasizing, First Time, Hurt Dana Scully, Infatuated Fox Mulder, Jealous Fox Mulder, Morning After, Morning Cuddles, Morning Sex, RST, Resolved Sexual Tension, Second Time, UST, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-08
Updated: 2021-03-06
Packaged: 2021-03-18 20:20:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28623996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Violetta_Valery/pseuds/Violetta_Valery
Summary: The story is set between S6 ep. 18 “Milagro” and ep. 19 “The Unnatural”. Loads and loads of angst, ending… naturally.Inspired by @scullytheimmortal and her AMAZING “Milagro” edit posted on Instagram some time ago. Please, check this account for some great content!On a side note, I just love writing first times and morning afters… the series lost SO many great momentums for their first time!!!***Spoilers: Related to the episodes in question, you should’ve seen them to get the feel of the story. Tiny mentions of S6 ep. 3 “Triangle”, ep. 8 “The Rain King”, ep. 15 “Arcadia” and “Fight the Future”, but not really spoilers.Disclaimers: goes without saying, “The X-Files” characters are not mine. English is not my mother language, so excuse any grammar errors or unimaginative vocabulary. And of course, have fun!
Relationships: Dana Scully/Phillip Padgett, Fox Mulder & Dana Scully, Fox Mulder/Dana Scully
Comments: 29
Kudos: 166





	1. Chapter 1

FOX MULDER’S APARTMENT, ALEXANDRIA VA  
Evening

Mulder had never felt that stupid and miserable in his life. And he’s well aware he’s been through far too many situations that made him feel stupid and miserable before. He’d mastered the art.

“I made a mistake myself.”

“What's that, Mr. Padgett?”

“In my book, I'd written that Agent Scully falls in love but that's obviously impossible… Agent Scully is already in love.”

Mulder had read Padgett’s entire manuscript when he took it as evidence. So, hearing those words from him, that obsessed, third-rate author who’d stalked and stripped his partner in pages and pages of cheesy soft porn, infuriated him to the bone. *How could that psycho say something like that? Who is he to claim he knows Scully’s innermost thoughts? Who is he to be so sure he knows her better than me?* 

He knew deep inside the question he really was asking himself was *how could I not understand her the way he says he did?*, which led him to a state of unapologetic, jealousy-driven – if he could ever admit it – self-loathing, something he was trying to conceal as much as possible. Of course, being forced to discuss with Scully Padgett’s desire and what she ended up doing in his novel, so eloquently described, didn’t do him any favors on the matter. It was becoming a quite awkward situation for both of them.

*Agent Scully is already in love.*

He’d been thinking about Padgett, and Mulder’s blood boiled every single time he remembered the look on his goateed face leaving the police station with his book. If he weren’t forcefully controlling his reactions, knowing that Scully was already on the edge over the entire situation and didn’t need her partner losing his grip, – protecting the investigation was already far from his mind at that point, for him it had turned to be all about Scully – by now he would’ve beat the shit out of him and shoved page by page of manuscript down his throat. His hands shook at the thought of it, as he adjusted the surveillance camera on his side of the wall, hoping for a fruitful vigil of the writer’s apartment next door. The nerve of that man, to become his neighbor to get to Scully. He couldn’t wait to get that guy and throw him in jail.

Little did Mulder know things would escalate to something almost completely out of hand is such short time. One moment he’s arguing with Padgett at his building’s basement, gun drawn and the smell of burning paper from the writer’s ruined manuscript; the other he’s running like crazy back to the apartment, the clear sound of a gun being shot till unloaded buzzing in his ears. He gets to the door to find an unconscious, bloody Scully on the floor, and no sign of another person. Mulder’s mouth gets instantly dry, bitter with bile. *oh no, Scully…* So much blood, oh gosh. He leans on her, numb, for a moment too terrified to learn she was gone, but relief rushes through as she comes to her senses with a scream. Reticent to touch her *there’s so much blood*, he lets her get to him, clinging to him, sinking her nails on his back. A reflex of the desperation of awaking from a too vivid, too real nightmare. The fear of opening her eyes to something neither could in fact explain.

Her blood soaks her clothes, soaks the carpet and now soaks his chest. She is sobbing, and before he knows a couple of tears roll on his cheeks as he cradles her, the adrenaline rush now wearing off. He’s so glad she’s alive in his arms, her heart beating against him. For one of those fleeting, yet everlasting moments, they hold each other tight, his hands soothing her hair. It takes a while for Mulder to speak.

“You’re safe, Scully. It’s just me… you’re safe now.” Scully is trembling in shock. “Let me see how bad you’re hurt. May I?” She nods.

Without much thinking, but most delicately, Mulder lays her back on the floor and opens the upper buttons on her shirt, exposing the bloody skin of her chest. The lace on her bra is soggy, and he can see dark bruises in the shape of finger pads between her breasts, evident even over all the redness. There was no break in the skin though, nothing.

“We should have you checked, Scully. I can’t see a cut, but there’s too much blood. Padgett’s still on the basement, let me get down there and call the police...”

“Padgett’s gone. So is the book.” Her voice is no more than a whisper now that the sobbing eased. She grabs his shirt again and pulls him close. “Don’t you dare leave me here, Mulder.”

“I won’t, Scully, I won’t. How is it… how would you kn..?”

“Nascimento was here. And then he wasn’t.” 

That’s when Mulder sees her gun on the floor. He turns his head and studies the wall behind, studded with bullets, and wonders what happened. She was attacked by someone she clearly recognized as the man in which Padgett’s killer character was based, and he was very real to cause such damage, to make her unload the entire clip. Was he a materialization? He thinks of the early 20th century pictures of ghosts materializing out of thin air from ectoplasm. If it was the case, then all that blood could be the same ethereal substance… Still holding Scully and hiding his face on her shoulder, he brings one of his blood-covered fingers to his mouth and timidly leaks it. Ferrous, tangy. No doubt, it is the real thing. Damn, he just put Scully’s blood in his mouth. Talk about intimacy in a way Padgett could have never reached. *well, “spooky” is finally a well-earned nickname* he thinks, even as he tries to rationalize what he’d just done as pure scientific method. He actually felt like he’d just got to a new level of stupid.

“Mulder?”

“What?”

“Will you help me out of the floor, please?”

Mulder quickly grabs his partner’s tiny figure and lays her on the couch, careful not to make any harsh movements as she appears to be in pain, her body languid, exhausted. “Let me get that for you…” He buttons her shirt up, trying not to touch her as much as his clumsy hands allow, but inevitably brushes the fair, sticky skin just above her bra. “Sorry about that.” The touch feels like an electric current that sends icy-hot sparks through his hand, burning like frostbite, and for a moment he closes his eyes, trying to regain focus. The power such a small, unassuming touch has over him is overwhelming: even though he’s touched her so many times throughout the years, it feels as if a switch has been flicked somewhere. Scully feels cold right now, yet paradoxically she holds all the warmth of the world, like a homecoming hug after long absence. Soft, fire-singed marshmallow melting in a bite. Fingers running through a lock of hair. A sip of brandy pricking the tip of the tongue. Mulder wants to hold on to that comforting feeling forever, glue his cheeks to her bosom and listen to each beat of her heart against his ear, kiss every inch of her chest until the bruises are no more and they both feel like they’re home within each other.

He does nothing of the sort; instead, he seats by her side and dials 911, and in a few moments 2630 Hegal Place is swarming with cops and paramedics. They collect Padgett’s remains, examine Scully, interrogate Mulder, all procedures by the book. Each character provides a more fantastic element to an unbelievable plot that, nonetheless, had just developed and reached its end with a burnt manuscript, a blood-soaked carpet and a bullet-marked wall. A couple of hours later there’s no one else there but the two partners, surrounded by the strangest silence. She’s the one to break it.

“Mulder, can you drive me home?”

“Sure, Scully, but maybe you should take a shower first, get more comfortable. Let me get you something to change.”

She nods. She wants to wash away the blood, wash away the day and that touch of evil from her skin. Mulder comes to her with one of his t-shirts, the softest one he can find, and a pair of shorts. She pulls the bathroom door behind him but doesn’t close it entirely, to reassure herself she is not completely alone and can cry for help if needed – she’s so scared. Her ruined clothes end in a plastic bag he left there. She loved that bra. She now considers throwing it on the incinerator, anger filtering most of her thoughts as she steps into the shower. The barely scalding water hits her back and shoulders, tiles turn a gradient of baby pink to scarlet, and at first, she’s stiff, running her soapy, Mulder-scented fingers through the deep bruises on her chest. How could she allow herself to be led into Padgett’s illusion? She felt defeated by her own spirit, like the hard-shell casket so well-placed around herself through the years slowly cracked under the extreme possibility of succumbing to that man, to the fantasy he created so well-wrapped in the elements of her life he meticulously studied. No, not studied. Invaded. Scully feels like an open wound. Spiritually violated, physically and mentally abused. 

*Agent Scully is already in love.*

The memory hits her hard. The nerve of that man, to expose a feeling she didn’t even acknowledge to be true in such a raw way, looking into Mulder’s eyes, delivering a message. Most likely she just didn’t want to acknowledge it, so she buried it in that casket that now was ripped open. *Loneliness is a choice*, she reminds herself of the brief conversation with Padgett. A whirlwind of feelings is bleeding from her now, and she can’t hold the turmoil. She recalls Mulder’s countless innuendos and the stoned, candid declaration that seems to have been ages ago, and thinks of the brief moments when she gave it proper thought: she remembers the naïve blonde astonished look when she told her she’d never even kissed him, and how she fell into her senses just as she, making tremendous effort to remain cool and detached, explained how *the best relationships – the ones that last – are frequently the ones that are rooted in friendship. How one day you look at the person and you see something more than you did the night before… And the person who was just a friend is... suddenly the only person you can ever imagine yourself with.* She remembers the words by heart, like she’s the one with the eidetic memory. Then there was the tender holding of hands and public cuddling and “honeybunching” while playing house undercover – in spite of the standard annoyed faces and eye rolls, it felt great to be so close to him, and pretty difficult to hold back, the glimpse of an ordinary, bordering mediocre life for a moment seeming so tempting.

Maybe Scully indeed didn’t want to acknowledge she is irrevocably in love with Mulder. Maybe she chose loneliness over the perspective of ruining their partnership, their work, their friendship… the connection they have. Well, at least until she saw herself in the position of almost giving in to a stranger’s allure that could fulfil the emotional – and sexual – longings in her life, but at the same time could – and almost did – kill her. Before she knows she’s sobbing again, and with no control over her body she slips to the floor with a thump of her back to the tiled wall. Mulder hears the noise and calls her from the gap on the door. Not getting a reply, he slowly enters the bathroom, which by now is so steamed it gets hard to see through, and finds Scully curled in a corner, flushed and trembling. 

“Scully? Scully, talk to me!” she tries to mumble something but nothing but her crying really comes out. Mulder closes the shower, gets a towel and covers her, quickly carrying her like a rag doll to his bedroom. Suddenly it’s Antarctica all over again, but this time she’s burning in his grasp. He tries as best as he can to be a gentleman and divert from the fact he’s laying her completely naked in his bed. He adjusts the towel and brings a clean sheet to top it and cover her more thoroughly. “Scully, the hot water must’ve dropped your blood pressure, are you okay?”

Scully can’t seem to stop crying, she’s rocking back and forth, her arms holding her knees under the sheets; all those concealed emotions are now pouring from her like a dam had exploded. Mulder was really worried she might be having a nervous breakdown. “Let me get you some water, we need to cool you down a bit.”

He comes back with a glass and helps her drink it. He then goes for the clothes he’d separated for her, and turns around so she can dress. When he turns again she’s calmer, half wet with her hair soaking a pillow, half dressed in his enormous t-shirt, and entirely adorable tucked under the sheets. Her skin is no longer flushed and tears are drying on her cheeks. She also turns under her shoulder to face him. “Don’t leave me here, Mulder. Please.”

“I’d never.” In a split-second Mulder is lying next to her, spooning her minute body as to protect it from whatever. That’s it, he wants to protect her, to assure her she’s safe and he will shield her with his every fiber, come what may. Scully finds the warmth she was aiming for in the shower, and finally feels her muscles soften, relax. She sighs as he pats her cheeks, drying any stubborn tears, and places a feather-like kiss, bringing back one the fondest memories she has of his affection.

“Mulder… Padgett was right, you know?”

“What’s that?” 

“He was right. I hate him for saying it, I’ll hate him forever for this.”

“Scully, I don’t follow…”

“I am. You know…”

“What..?”

(…)


	2. Chapter 2

“I am. You know…”

“What..?”

“In love with you.”

Four words, confessionally whispered into the silence of the room, and time stands still. Four ordinary words, and in Mulder there is no more self-loathing, jealousy, anger, worry, at least for that moment. There is no more Padgett, what’s left of him subdued by whatever mystical, ancient power resides in the meaning of what had just been said. “Oh, Scully…” he wants to hold her tighter, to amalgamate their bodies. Instead, he slowly rolls her out of their spoon so she’s now facing him, the tip of their noses barely touching. Yet, she gazes away. “Look at me, Scully…”

“This is not the way it was supposed to go…” she whispers, not able to raise her voice. Her eyes are now squeezed tight, in a silly attempt to stop the tears. Always the control freak, she feels troubled and frail, even angry, to be so exposed. An open wound. Before she tenses up all over again, he’s there to soothe her.

Mulder places his hand on her neck, oh-so-delicately rubbing his thumb against her jawline, a reconnecting touch that says *it’s alright… you’re alright… stay with me… don’t slip away…* he rubs his nose into hers once, twice, a third time. He kisses her eyelids, her forehead, cheeks, dries away all those tears with his lips. He recollects he’s tasted Scully at her most intimate twice today. Blood and tears, remnants of an ache he wishes he could drink from her, swallow and take to himself, and for a split, selfish second wonders how her love and lust, her merrier intimacy, would taste like.

“I love you… so much…”

His soft, confidential tone, quite different from the Bermuda confession, is all it takes to make Scully let go at last. Her body relaxes and sinks in the mattress, and she grabs Mulder’s stained shirt to maintain their closeness. His errant thumb is now tracing the contours of her lips, feather-like and in slow motion, as if the two of them were trapped in a wrinkle in time, suspended. There’s no world outside each other. Her lips mimic her eyes as they open merely a slit, and places a loving kiss on his thumb pad, the tip of her tongue poking it delicately. Moves are slow and lengthened, opium dream-like; she opens her mouth and invites his thumb in, suckling, scratching it between her teeth, petting it with her tongue. Curiously enough, they had never even kissed, their momentum frustrated long ago by a disastrous bee and the broken loose hell that followed, but here she is, sucking Mulder’s thumb decadently, like it is a precious delicacy. She can’t explain this yearning, and for the first time, she doesn’t even try to, but just surrenders to being there, with a piece of him in her mouth.

There’s not a sound in the bedroom but that sensual slurping, when a sudden groan escapes Mulder’s throat, a response to Scully’s boldness and his own arousal. His jeans feel tight, his manhood awake, reaching out to her. Reflecting the impulse, his hand retreats from her preying hold and reaches out to her damp hair, wrapping her in, bringing their faces even closer. Their noses brush, their cheeks brush, their lips brush anticipating completion. They brush each other’s skins until they’re drunk with touch and breath and moist. It’s primitive, it’s irrational, it’s exactly what they need: a kind of emotional dry humping, a small relief for an overload of sentiment and desire, built up for almost seven years and ready to blow up. 

Scully’s lips open up, and as a sigh and a moan threaten to escape, Mulder shuts her up with a kiss. Pop. The hourglass that’s dropping grain by grain of sand explodes, and time now goes at a frenetic pace. She suddenly feels she’s just one big bundle of nerves, super sensitive, at the mercy of that man who now seems to be everywhere: his hands rove over her body, reaching her waist, a breast, a knee, running between her thighs, both finding out together that the slippery evidence of her arousal is pouring on her tender flesh there. He’s kissing every inch of skin he can find under and above the shirt she’s wearing, the feel of the silk-like touch of his lips and tongue electrifying on her pores. Before she even realizes, Mulder is under the sheets, lapping her love and lust from her inner thighs and then from her intimate core, hungry and frantic. He’s sheer bliss at the realization of having tasted Scully in all her intimacy: blood, tears, saliva, sweat and cum.

The moan Mulder refrained her from moments ago is finally free; Scully cries in pleasure hoarsely at the touch of his tongue, and then feels him climbing up, leaving a trail of his saliva and her honey up to her sternum. He stops there, conscious of the bruises inflicted not so long ago that may still be sensitive. As if time was slipping through his fingers, he desperately removes his jeans and boxers, never leaving the lock his eyes have on hers, never diverting, not to miss a single moment. She spreads her legs and opens her mouth to a perfect OH the moment he buries his throbbing, aching cock to the hilt into her sex, and she can feel every vein, every pulse against her walls. The same thought pops in their minds *we’re each other’s mold* as they look into one another, holding still for a moment to relish the feeling of being in a perfect fit, amalgamated as Mulder wished moments ago. He begins to thrust, sliding inside and almost out slowly, reverently, never breaking eye contact, and she undulates like a cat under him to match his moves, but neither can keep up with the lazy pace. In no time he’s pounding on her ferally, holding her forearms on top of her head, and her breasts bounce under his t-shirt with the force and speed of their rhythm. The bed squeaks, the headboard bumps, the bedroom seems alive with the tangible energy emanating from their bodies.

For a split-second Scully wonders if this is all real, if this is not another fantasy from the pages of a book, but Mulder shifts a bit so that he rubs into her clit with his every thrust, that now reaches an impossible speed, his release so, so close; she feels alive more than ever. Her core begins to pulse and the trembling spreads to her entire body, she moans in an ascending, loud spiral; she’s coming, and she’s coming hard, the orgasm reflecting in every pore up to her scalp. It’s maddening. She clenches her cunt with all strength she has left and immediately he follows her to his orgasm, rubbing his cheek against hers and mumbling some incoherent thought to her ears, his cum pouring into her.

Mulder’s arms are shaking with the effort of keeping himself raised, afraid of the hurt he can cause if he collapses on Scully’s bruised body, so he tries to roll to lay on his back. Scully clings to his chest and moves along, places herself on top of him; she doesn’t want to miss the feeling of having him inside her, even when she feels his cock soft and their combined juices begin to leak from her. He kisses the top of her head; she responds with a kiss directly to his heart.

“Oh Scully…”

“Mulder.”

They pause for a long time, still panting, until their bodies are again peaceful.

“Would you ever imagine this… sloppy… messy… frantic… beautiful fuck as our first time?”

“Never... It was perfect, though.” She raises her head and looks coyly at him, biting the collar of his t-shirt she’s still wearing.

“Me neither… and I’ve imagined a pretty good range of scenarios.” There’s a silly, boyish grin on his face. Truth be told, he’s really over the moon to see that, for the first time since Padgett appeared in their lives, Scully is finally smiling.

She lets him slip away from her with a slightly disappointed sigh and cuddles into his arms. In no time – of which they’re utterly oblivious at the moment – they fall into blissful sleep.

(…)


	3. Chapter 3

Scully wakes up and gazes at the ceiling bone idle, eyes barely open. It’s not even dawn yet; the only fade lights peeking through the windows are the ones from the streetlamps, and it’s all so quiet. For a moment she doesn’t know where she is, but the whole chain of events from the day before flashes through her mind when she turns and sees Mulder sleeping by her side. She watches as his back rises and falls in quiet breathing, and wonders if she’s ever seen him so peaceful. There’s something about it that makes her smile, a sort of mildness softening his ever-so-intense features, visible even with the way his cheek is mushed into the pillow. 

“Scul…” he mumbles, the muffled sound of half her name amusing Scully, and reaches for her hipbone. His arm’s stretched, his fingertips roughly brush the t-shirt she’s still wearing. She moves closer to satisfy his slumbery crave, delighting in the warmth of his hand that sneaks under the fabric, against her skin. *Mulder loves me. This man actually loves me.* The thought makes her smile widen. She watches this man asleep for minutes she can’t really count and almost dozes off herself, until he begins to move, slowly awakening. Self-consciousness hits all of a sudden, pulling her from the dreamlike state: the practical and polished Scully is reminded of morning breath, and sweat, and chest bruises, and the sticky souvenir of last night between her legs.

“Good morning.” She whispers in his ear, running her fingers loosely through his hair and placing a peck just beneath his earlobe. “I’ll be right back.” Before he can tighten his grip she’s out of the bed, straight to the bathroom. 

The space behind a closed door feels like a brief refuge from the overwhelming turn of events in Scully’s life. It struck her as too much: the recent, still fresh trauma of the stalking, harassment, and the paranormal attack – she would never admit to Mulder she got to that conclusion herself – mingled with the avalanche of feelings they poured into each other, culminating in what was for her the fuck of a lifetime. *Too good to be true, there has to be a catch.* she wonders, but when she stares at herself in the mirror, with messy hair and starry eyes, and sees a somehow renewed woman emerging from the image, the thought vanishes. *But it is good. It is the truth, it is in here.* The last person she wants to think about right now or anytime in the future is Phillip Padgett, and although she’d never really forgive him, she understands his part in her own story: he was the sledgehammer that crushed her defenses down to the ground. Hurtfully, yes, yet the end effect brought Mulder and her a step further, closer. And Scully feels ready for this for the first time. She sighs, feeling lighter, somewhat in peace with the realization, and just as she takes off his t-shirt she’s startled by the sight: *Oh my god!* There’s not a single mark on her skin. Gone, like Nascimento was gone, without a trace.

“Scully? Are you alright?” Mulder’s bed voice can be heard from behind the door, and Scully wonders how long she’s been locked there with her thoughts. Time seemed so relative since yesterday. So bendy. 

“Yes. Give me five.” She showers quickly, rinses her mouth, puts the t-shirt back on and steps outside, looking timidly at Mulder who’s fully awake and seated, his back on the headboard. “Hi.” Her voice comes out in that high-pitched, whispery tone of childish excitement she gets in sometimes. 

Mulder melts at the sight and sound. *Scully loves me. That woman actually loves me.* He grins at that woman leaning at the door jamb, amused by the way she places her arms modestly in front of her figure, so demure, so daring, so adorable, so mighty. He remembers the sight of her stepping inside the basement office for the first time, with the very same cocky slash shy vibe. She offered a handshake, her crooked fingers assertively held his. At that moment he had no idea of the magnitude of that gesture, of how Scully would spin his life on its axis; a not always seamless change, true, but a natural one. It felt natural being around each other, ever more organic through the years, with suspicion turning to trust, challenge becoming intellectual foreplay, innuendos meaning playful undeclared declarations of love and yearning. 

“Get over here, Scully.” There’s something about his tone, the way he cocks his head, that makes her knees a bit wobbly. She approaches carefully, crawling in the mattress like a cat and laying her head on his chest, arms and legs circling each other in a lazy embrace. “Hey.” He whispers with a kiss into her hair. “How are you feeling?”

“Splendid, all things considered.” They chuckle together at her candid answer. “Mulder, I… I need to show you something. I'm having a hard time explaining it…” and before there was any chance for Mulder to begin to worry about her statement, Scully releases his arms and pulls the t-shirt off, baring herself to him. The feeble golden sunlight that’s coming with the dawn illuminates her, highlights her contours, the color of her nipples contrasting with the fair skin of the breasts. Mulder’s mesmerized, so much he fails at first to grasp what she means, until he reaches to touch her and remembers she is – or was – hurt. 

“Your bruises…”

“Gone… just like that… Mulder, what’s this? Is this even real?”

Mulder eases her body on the mattress and presses his cheek to her chest, holding her close. “I can hear your heartbeat.” His hand absently moves to caress her breast, kneading, feather-light touching her nipple with his thumb. “You’re warm. You’re here. This is real.” The rhythmic beat they both focus on now can be felt against their skin, and brings back a reassuring sense of time, which speeds up as Mulder presses his lips to the patch of skin where there were angry, deep purple finger marks before. He kisses her as if to make sure all the hurt was gone, from chest and from heart, and she believes it, clings to the amorous feeling he pours into her in form of silky touch, heat and breath. He moves to hold a hardened nipple between his lips, kisses, suckles, drags his teeth oh-so-delicately, first one then the other, building that sinking heat in Scully’s core that makes her insides melt between her legs as honey and salty ocean breeze. Self-conscious Dana is gone; she doesn’t care anymore about the messy sheets below them, or Mulder’s sweat and breath, instead she sinks her fingers in his hair and whispers under a dragged breath:

“Kiss me, Mulder.”

He does. Deeply, his tongue meets hers as he shares her core once more, and this time he doesn’t silence her, but let their moans mingle in each other’s mouths, half open, half touching, all consuming. This time, it is not a sloppy messy frantic beautiful fuck. The tempo is lazy, an andante dictated by the beating of their hearts. In and out, in and out, he slides and she meets, so in tune they can almost foresee their building orgasms. Fully conscious, Scully can feel every pore, every vein, every pulse of their bodies, and when she looks into his eyes and see a plead for release, she smiles.

“Let go, Mulder.”

“Come with me, Scully.” Supported by an elbow, he reaches her clit with his free hand. The slippery touch throws her to the edge in which he’s standing, just waiting for her.

Their foreheads are glued as they come together, eyes wide open, toothy grins and loud cries that will most likely grant Mulder a formal complaint from the neighbors. He collapses into her arms and slips out, as they look at each other short of breath, laughing. The sun is fully up now and fills the bedroom; a great metaphor for the state in which the newfound lovers find themselves into.

“Still with me, Scully?” he teases, feeling her almost doze off in his arms.

“Always have, always will… what now, Mulder?”

“Shower? Breakfast? Sex in the shower? Sex in the kitchen, before breakfast?”

“Shut up, Mulder! You know what I mean.”

“We’ll think of something. We can make this work, we happen to be two of the Bureau’s most brilliant minds.” He pecks her nose, then her lips, then lowers and mushes his cheek on her chest. “But right now, I just want to stay here and hear your warm…” kiss “… beating…” kiss “… heart”.

“We can do that.” She presses her lips to the top of his head, thinking that yes, they could make this work somehow. At least until the phone rings and it’s Skinner, asking for their report on the Padgett case ASAP. Apparently he couldn’t understand a thing of the one the police had sent him in the evening.

(…)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tiny chapter so you won't forget this story! More to come soon, I hope...

F. B. I. HEADQUARTERS, WASHINGTON D. C.  
Friday, 4:32 pm

Two weeks later

“… so, if you don’t have any urgent or latent cases for the next week, please take this time to review prospects, organize your expense reports and prepare for the end-of-semester audits...”

Scully and Mulder’s dynamics changed in the course of a fortnight. Something quite magical if they stopped to think about it, for it seemed that much of the harshness with which life had treated them so far was now behind. Both had lost so much, that finding each other as woman and man, adding to the partnership, to the friendship, felt like finding a quiet peace that none have had before. It felt just natural when, gradually, daily routine became lighter, interactions more laid-back, smiles more frequent. And of course, the orchestral understanding in bed that happens once in a lifetime, if it does at all; a result of almost seven years of unresolved sex tension, between two people who know each other better than themselves yet manage to keep one another guessing. They are now exploring the realm of extreme possibilities, and truth be told, it’s become an endurance challenge to keep their hands off each other. Most nights are spent together, taking turns on where they stay, christening her bed, his couch, each and every room. Bringing new meaning and fonder memories to places that once had been sceneries for loneliness, violence and loss. Their houses are now homes for their newfound love.

Much to Mulder’s frustration, even though he knew she was 100% right as usual, Scully had set the boundaries in the work environment: they could manage the water cooler talk, they’ve been doing it for ages, but to risk validating the rumors was definitely a no-no. Hinting to strangers any sort of intimacy on the road was also a no-no, but that they’ll still have to put to test as soon as a new case appears. For now, always the disruptor, Mulder is focused on testing the waters inside the Hoover Building. Not an hour ago, he stole an innocent enough peck before opening the basement door, on their way to the meeting with the A. D. She gave him the standard what-the-fuck eyebrow lift, but the timid, girlish smirk on her lips denounced her appreciation. She just couldn’t resist lovesick-Mulder, and he felt triumphant at the small victory over her rules of professional engagement.

Right now, however, Scully can hardly believe he’s rubbing his foot on her bare calves, under the boardroom table, as Skinner lectures about… what on earth is that he’s talking about? She remembers Mulder asked her to forgo stockings this morning when they dressed for work *your legs are so incredibly beautiful, Scully, free them of the nylon!*. He must’ve been planning to try this all along, he always has an agenda. *Geez Mulder, what the hell?*, her head’s spinning at both the tingling his caress provokes and the effort to keep her composure, something she almost loses at the feeling of his wandering fingers just above her knee, on the hem of her skirt. She quickly kicks his foot back and grabs his hand so it doesn’t wander any further.

“… agent Scully...? Agent Scully!”

“Yes! Yes, sir.” Mulder was doing a much better job at keeping his poker face but couldn’t help a choked laugh when she was called back to Earth, her eyes like saucers.

“Yes what, agent Scully? I wasn’t asking… you know what? Have a nice weekend! Get out, you both.” Skinner’s patience is gone, and since everything seems enough in order, he’s ready to call it a day for everybody.

Back at the office, Mulder can’t quit the foolish grin and Scully is pissed. Well, not really, really pissed, for the thrill made her uncomfortable in a nice way – the juvenile thrill of getting caught doing something they shouldn’t, right under their boss’ nose. It was childish, and it was great. Maybe she will eventually allow herself to be bolder, but right now, she doesn’t need to enable her boyish, infatuated and much more reckless partner. So she rolls her eyes at him yet again, and when he asks if she’s going back to Hegal Place for the weekend, he thinks she’s bluffing when she announces Maggie’s in town and coming for dinner at her place.

“Sorry Mulder, this Friday night’s my mother’s. And I’m mad at you.”

“I thought you were mad ABOUT me…”

“Bye Mulder… happy Friday…” she sings and waves bye bye, heading for the door with briefcase and car keys in hand, and Mulder watches in awe of the woman as her silhouette floats through the corridor. No peck this time, and he pouts, thinking how dreadfully long this night will be.

*****

DANA SCULLY’S APARTMENT; GEORGETOWN, D. C.  
Saturday, 2:58 am

“Scully…”

“Hey, it’s me. How was dinner?”

“Seriously, Mulder?”

“Hey, I love Maggie! I couldn’t wait to know how she is!”

“Fine, she’s fine. Good night, Mulder…”

“Hey Scully! Tomorrow, I mean, today, 10 am at the basement. I have a lead on something.”

“Sure, fine, whatever. Bye, Mulder...”

“Good night, Scu…” she hangs up before he can finish. “Love you.”

(…)


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was planning this to be a three-chapter story, but it took a path of its own! Although now I must say it's really walking towards an end...
> 
> I hope you're enjoying reading as much as I'm enjoying writing!

F. B. I. HEADQUARTERS’ BASEMENT, WASHINGTON D. C.  
Saturday, 10:07 am

The sun is shining, it is a gorgeous day, and Scully really wishes Mulder would cut the crap about the lead he claims he has and invite her for some ordinary time together. She knows he asked her to be at the basement today as a silly retaliation for abandoning him on a Friday night but, being sillily true to her much-in-love self, she is there anyway, dragging a heavy, dusty load of large newspaper files to their office where he’s currently seated, going at full attention through a few papers he’d already gathered. She finally gets him to look at her by making a show of savouring her hideously named non-fat tofutti rice dreamsicle; a prank of her own. For a moment she thinks she’s got him – there’s that sparkle that’s so Mulder, that mix of tease, amusement and lust masked behind a perfect poker face that Scully alone can penetrate – and her legs go a bit wobbly when, in the middle of a witty ping pong of cliches building up the tension, he lunges on her as if she were a defenceless prey. Before she can warn him of the janitor that’s roving in the corridor, he grabs her wrist to bite the less than appealing dessert. Damn, she wished the door was locked. She wished for a moment she were the dripping, melted dreamsicle on his lips.

But then, between the playful grabbing and all his baseball blabbing that followed, something Scully quite didn’t see coming happens: a picture catches Mulder’s eyes. Suddenly there’s an actual lead for him after all; right away he’s tearing that piece of old paper and heading towards the door with not so much as a see you soon. He bumps into the janitor on his way to the elevator, and Scully’s left behind, ditched on a gorgeous Saturday morning over baseball trivia from the 40’s. She’s so astounded that an incredulous half-smile curls her lips as she stands immobile in the middle of their cramped room.

“You rebel.” she gasps.

*****

Mulder’s feeling guilty. He absolutely loves teasing Scully, pushing her to the limit of her patience, but today was over the top and he regrets it. He wasn’t counting on really finding something, let alone getting carried away, and although he knew she understood his obsessive behaviour more than anybody ever did, he felt bad for ditching her once again – even more on a weekend when they were meant to be together. And gosh, he missed her all day. The conversation with Arthur Dales, the brother, had been invigorating, exciting, it linked two of his passions together, but Scully is his greatest passion and she was missing from the tableau. He wished she was there to disprove Dales’ story, counter his evidence, spill her science and watch them dance between arguments as he would just stand there, amused and mesmerized. He loves an argumentative Scully.

When Mulder stood by Dales’ door to say thank you and goodbye, just about to leave, the old man asked him if he didn’t have any other place to be on that gorgeous Saturday.

“I uh… I do have someone waiting for me. Well, I hope I still have, anyway.”

Dales got closer to him and with a grumpy face slapped the back of his head hard. “Next time you think of leaving that incredibly smart redhead behind to chase an old tale, alien or not, remember this slap, kiddo. Or bang your own head on the wall… you must be crazy to ditch her over this. Goodbye.” 

Mulder stood in the hallway, his hand trying to soothe the pain on his head, and wondered how on earth the man knew about Scully. The other Arthur Dales must’ve said something, he’d met her in Florida. But how he knew the incredibly smart redhead was the one waiting for him… well, it didn’t really matter. All Mulder knew was that he needed to make amendments and put his head for a better use than banging it on a wall next time. So he called her and left a message when she didn’t pick up the phone, once, twice, three times. Geez, she must be mad. He’s got to make things right, and his head’s now at full scheming mode.

*****

A BASEBALL FIELD, ALEXANDRIA VA  
Saturday, evening

The sky’s already darkened when Scully shows up at the park and sees Mulder hitting balls from a pitching machine. She stops by the fence and watches him swinging the bat, so focused he doesn’t notice her there. At the sight, a juvenile, butterfly-flapping feeling in her stomach gives her the hint she won’t be able to carry the whole I’m-mad-at-you charade any longer; she’s already smiling the foolish, easy smile of a woman in love. It’d been ages since she felt that way, if she ever had at all. Scully had got to the conclusion that love was too rare to happen every so often in a person’s life, and it was so frequently mistaken for feebler, shallower sensations that people lived their lives without knowing the real deal. Now that she did, she’d fight for it, fight for them. After so much shit, they deserved it.

“So, uh... I get this message marked ‘urgent’ on my answering service from one Fox Mantle, telling me to come down to the park for a very special, very early or very late birthday present. And, Mulder... I don't see any nicely-wrapped presents lying around so, what gives?”

Mulder invites her to play. Not quite an invitation, though. “Get over here, Scully.” 

There are the wobbly legs again, his sultry baritone like heavy velvet in her ears, his Grays jersey-covered chest like sun-warmed clay against her back. Scully feels warm. She tries a joke for distraction, “This my birthday present, Mulder? You shouldn't have.” to no effect. He teaches hips before hands, yet his hands are there first, imprinting touch in her skin even through the heavy suit fabric. Hips swing in unison, arms swing in unison, hands playfully cover one another till they settle in the bat. Definitely not a bad piece of ash.

Mulder’s overjoyed, and an overjoyed Mulder is an overtalkative Mulder. He whispers shenanigans and they hit a ball, Scully giggles and they hit another. And again, and again, and time goes by without them even noticing. The poorboy by the batting machine laughs at the clumsy duo that seems to be living in a world of their own. The balls are gone, flown away into the starry sky, as are the park lights, so Mulder pays the kid and takes Scully by the hand. “How did you like the surprise?” but before she can answer, a massive thunder roars above them and rain instantly falls; it gives them no time to shelter.

“Where the hell did that come from? The sky was clean!” Scully screams and grabs Mulder’s hands, trying to run in the direction of her car, but he’s got another idea. Standing still, he pulls her straight into his arms and kisses her deeply, as if his life depends on it. He believes it does. With her cocooned there, he slowly moves them towards the fence that surrounds the field and pins her carefully against it, his hands cupping her soaked cheeks, pushing her hair out of her face. When he breaks the kiss, a grin takes over and he looks Scully-drunk.

“What?” she asks a bit dumbstruck, and smiles when he answers.

“I’ve been wanting to kiss you in the rain since Bellefleur.”

“Well then, take your chance, Mulder… I won’t stand in the rain deliberately for you to kiss me a second time.” 

Scully barely finishes the sentence and Mulder’s lips are back on hers, oh-so-delicately opening to invite her tongue in. An almost seven-year kiss in the making, and it’s everything and more he could ever imagine. The rain is freezing, and droplets sublimate at the instant contact with their bodies; produce an ethereal steam that surrounds them and fills the scene with a kind of scientific magic. Always searching for a meaning in everything, Mulder wonders what this unexpected, out of place rain announces, but lets the thought go when Scully’s hand wander under his jersey, unsticking it to caress the skin at the low of his back, and he smiles at the claim she’s taking at the very same spot that’s his on her own body.

“I’m sorry, Scully… for today, for yesterday. I behaved like a spoiled kid.”

“I know… it’s okay… Thank you for apologizing. Just don’t leave me behind anymore.” She took the break to run her thumb through his lower lip, and he kissed it back. She loved the feeling. “And no touching under the meeting room table, no matter how… good that felt…” she added with a giggle, friskily biting the tip of his chin. 

“Deal… now, let’s get you home. I’m not done with the apologies, you’re soaking wet and I don’t want you to get a cold.”

“Oh, you got this right, Mulder. I am soaking wet… but I must say I’m definitely not cold.” 

Scully’s voice goes down an octave, and she sounds dangerous and endearing. Mulder presses her a bit harder into the grid, kisses her fervently and runs his hands from her waist to her hips, from hips to discreetly cup her between her legs. Indeed she feels hot, with a different, heavier kind of wet right there. At this moment he realizes he can actually smell her even through the pouring rain; his head starts spinning and his heart races, and in no time he’s the one grabbing her hand and running to the parking lot. He’s got a lot planned to say he’s truly, truly sorry.

(…)


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's here, the final - super smutty - chapter. 
> 
> Thanks for everyone who read, enjoyed and stuck with me until now!
> 
> (On a side note, this was written under the influence of heavy wine. Please excuse any typos or other grammar aberrations!)

*****

The ride back to Hegal Place, even though just a few blocks away from the park, was made in record time; Scully behind the wheels on an excited mood could be laser-focused and dangerously speedy like an F1 pilot. She miraculously parked in the usually occupied spot in front of the building with squealing tires and a giggle, as she stared at Mulder and saw him glued to the passenger’s seat and eyes like saucers. But in a moment he was all relaxed again, jumping from the car and holding her by the hand as they leave a watery trail along the elevator, the hallway, his living room. Closing the door behind him, he asked her to wait for him in the bathroom while he fixed something for them.

“What’d you like to drink, Scully? Wine, beer…”

“Why, Mulder, what’s with the pampering? I’ll have what you’ll have, no worries.”

“No Scully, tonight’s about you… what would YOU like?”

Scully picked the wine and headed to the bathroom, amused by Mulder’s way. He arrived after her with a bottle of red wine, two glasses, then came back for some candles, a lighter and couple of extra fluffy giant towels, that she was sure he bought for the occasion. He arranged their drinks on a stool by the bathtub, scattered and lit the candles all over the place, placed the towels on a hanger and began to fill the tub. Under the sink, he reached for a flask and poured its content in the water, filling the bathroom with a warm, relaxing scent.

“Get over here, Scully…” he cupped her cheeks and kissed her smile that wouldn’t go away. She was quite overwhelmed by his somewhat clumsy and super tender treatment of her; his oh-so-Mulder way of saying he loved her, and would give her whatever it was to make amends for the way he treated her earlier. “Geez, you’re freezing. Let’s get rid of these soggy clothes.” Her protests over the borderline patronizing gesture had zero effect: he peeled off her every piece of clothing anyway, tossing them in a corner, and undressed himself as quickly as he could so she wouldn’t be exposed for too long.

And now, almost a bottle of wine later and squeezed in Mulder’s quite conveniently small bathtub, Scully feels cozy, relaxed and content, nestled between his thighs and supported by his chest. His lazy hand traces filigree patterns underwater, on the skin around her navel, nearly making her tickle but not quite. Just enough to make her feel over and under skin what love physically feels like. All over, all around, all tingling and warm.

“This is so nice, Mulder…” her voice is languid, reflecting the way her muscles and brain feel. With barely closed eyelids, she nuzzles against his chest, pecking the nipple she finds just there.

“Indeed it is, Scully… feeling comfortable?”

“Whoa, yeah.” Hearing a soft splosh, Scully feels Mulder’s hand moving lower on her belly, his fingers slightly combing the curls they find on the way. “Mulder… oooooh…” a deep sigh escapes at the delicate contact of his finger pads with her clit. He begins an indolent, almost sluggish rhythm, stroking her with featherlike touch, small circles that encapsule her entire world into here and now.

“How about now? Nice?” Mulder lowers his lips to her ear and whispers “Warm enough?” With a smile, he places a loving kiss to her cheek, never stopping caressing her. He can feel her honey oozing on his fingers even against the water. With his other hand, he touches her legs and directs them, so Scully opens up and supports her feet on the edge of the tub, over his own legs. She slips down a bit and her breasts float like medusae in the water, flowing as she slowly rocks against his hand, not aiming for more friction but a subtle contrary movement.

“So warm… so good, Mulder… so good…” the pleasure is gentle, loving and fulfilling. She’s floating, and wondering if this is what an extra-corporeal experience feels like: the hypnotic sensation of skin on skin under water, languid, slippery, weightless. She flies and submerges at the same time, suspended, and all she can hear is her own panting echoing in the candlelit tile walls. The build-up of her orgasm spirals quickly, and Mulder feels it.

“I got you, love… let go…” he coos, keeping the lazy pace and light touch, and Scully is on a tightrope between torture and delight. She wants him to speed up the pace, wants to tumble into release, and wants to live like this forever. His own arousal hardens him and he’s poking her lower back, a soft bump at her every movement in the water, another layer of suggestive pleasure, since she cannot reach for him in her semi-conscient state.

“Mulder… oh, god… Mulder…” her breath catches in her throat, but then a long moan emerges and echoes as her orgasm hits deep in her core, irradiating through her body like a sea wave, and she melts, with Mulder’s arm holding tight around her waist so she doesn’t dip entirely. “There you go.” His hand slows even more until it stops the circling completely, caresses her mons for a moment and retrieves, only to embrace her and steal little kisses from all over her face. The grin on his face can’t hide his pride of making Scully come by such light touch.

“Good?”

“Yeah… thank you…” Scully’s voice is husky and hushed. She takes his caring hand and kisses his knuckles, rubs them into her cheek. “Mulder?”

“Yes, love?”

“We’re pruning… care to get us those fluffy towels?” 

They step out of the tub and dry each other. With his own towel wrapped low on his hips, just enough to tease Scully, he leaves and comes back with another piece of fluff in his hands.

“This is for you… for whenever you’re here and don’t feel like wearing one of my shirts, or walk around in the nude… not that I mind it…” he gets himself an eye roll. Dropping her towel, Mulder envelops Scully on a lush, five-star-hotel-style white terrycloth robe, embroidered with a delicate S just above her left breast. She thanks him for the thoughtful gift, rubs her cheek on the fabric like a cat, and ties it around her waist. She looks so adorable engulfed by what looks like a cotton-candy cloud that Mulder can’t shake the silly, boyish smile of sheer delight at the sight.

They grab another bottle of wine and feed each other some cheese and crackers, cuddled in the couch to the white noise of some unimportant TV show. As the night unfurls the rain stops; it leaves the world outside on a state of lull. Halfway through the bottle Scully smoothly begins to run a foot across Mulder’s calf.

“Mulder… you said tonight’s about me, right?”

“Yep. All for you.”

“Okay… so, if you’re done with your cheese and wine, take me to bed.” Scully’s flush and crimson-lipped with wine, a bit tipsy and all coquettish with that rare gummy grim that Mulder has been thrilled to contemplate so often in the past two weeks.

He’d been ready to go for a while now, his erection never really fading after the tub, so he jumps from the couch as if the leather burnt his towel-covered ass and takes her by the hand, rushing them to his bedroom like two teenagers. Scully can’t stop giggling when he practically tosses her and she jumps in the mattress as if in a trampoline, and he joins her with hungry lips and fidgety fingers, poking, kissing, biting, tickling every spot of flesh he can find while she’s still dressed, his towel long lost somewhere between the couch and the bed. Both are trying to catch their breath when the mood shifts, and Mulder looks at her like a predator, running his tongue through his lips, mimicking her own tick. Without taking his eyes from his prey, he loosens the sash of her robe and exposes her body, the auburn curls between her legs sparkling with honey like raindrops. She’s so wet, so ready.

“Can I taste you, Scully?” Mulder mumbles with his face mushed between her breasts. He takes care of them, kisses and suckles her puckered nipples till she’s melting in the bed, and begins sliding his lips down, leaving tiny love bites wherever he ventures, and she knows her belly’s going to look like a battlefield the next morning. It feels so good she doesn’t care the least. She just nods at him when he looks up, and is lost again in the feeling of his moist breath going down, down, down. By the time he arrives where they both want to, her legs are spread wide, so he just holds her by the thighs and, close enough so she can feel the heat of his lips, Mulder blows a thin, steady breath stream up and down her slit. 

It’s so delicate – hickeys and all, he’s so delicate tonight – but the effect on Scully is devastating. She squirms under him, and he has to hold her legs not to be killed on a death grip. Laughing directly at her outer lips, he parts them with his tensioned tongue and licks, all the way from the sensitive spot just below her core up to her clit. It elicits a frenzied response on her, she can’t hold still and thrusts into his mouth, trying to relieve the agonizing sensation between her folds of that tongue that seems to have a will and a soul of its own. Bless Mulder and his oral fixation. He’s putting all his repertoire to the test, having learnt over the past two weeks some of the spots and moves that make her voice louder and her inner walls pulse, yet he marvels at each novelty he discovers with a flick, a suck, a rub. Wonders never cease with this woman.

“Mulder… Mul… oh god…” Scully is mewling and close to coming once again, and once again he knows it, feels it at the tip of his tongue and inside his chest, as if by some sorcery their hearts could communicate, confide in each other and say everything. They’re beating in unison, racing towards her ecstasy. He holds her hips tight against the bed, and with a pretty wicked suck on her clit she crashes, this time violently, spitting curses and Mulder’s name incoherently. It takes a while for him to be able to soothe her out of her high, tenderly rubbing his cheek and placing caring kisses on her vulva. He loves the softness of her skin and the tickling of her hair there.

“Holy fuck, Mulder… you’re trying to get me killed?” she gasps.

There’s the shitty grin of pride in his face again, only this time he’s actually laughing at the mess they did. He’s got her cum glistening from nose to chin on his face. “Scully, I think we ruined your new bathrobe.” They’d forgotten she was still lying down on it.

“Shut up, Mulder. Get up here.” and as he does, he hisses at the feeling of his massive erection rubbing against the sheets, forgotten but never gone for quite a while now. “Oh, you poor thing…” she kisses him lovingly and deeply, the taste of her honey, like seafoam, tantalizing now on both their lips. “Mulder?”

“Yeah, love?”

“You’ve made me fly twice. Now I want you to fly with me. The way you see fit.” 

“The way I see fit?”

“Yeah.”

Scully almost regrets the carte blanche she just gave, for the look in his eyes turns almost feral. She knows he won’t do anything she doesn’t agree to, but an overexcited and laser-focused Mulder can be overwhelming to say the least, and she doesn’t know if she can take a third massive orgasm she knows he’s going for. Her eyes widen when she sees he is slowly sliding the sash off the robe and rolling it into his hands, playing with it for a while.

“Trust me on this, Scully?” his eyes don’t leave her for a second.

“Always have, always will.”

“Tell me to stop if you’re not comfortable, okay?”

All she can say is a feeble yeah, and just like that Mulder’s straddling her. He ties the sash around her wrists, an improvised fluffy cuff, and then brings her arms above her head and ties her to the post on the headboard, adjusting her tiny figure diagonally in the bed. With a tight grip on her waist, she is suddenly flipped on her stomach and then he’s blanketing her, his lips and tongue roaming around her body, savouring every inch of skin. He pays tribute to the back and sides of her neck till she’s panting again, and heads south, scattering hickeys all around. He traces the contours of her tattoo, places a reverent kiss on it, longing to give it new meaning. And he heads further south, slipping through the low of her back until he stops to admire her perfect ass cheeks, when Scully hears a wicked giggle behind her. Not a second later she gasps loudly feeling a sting.

“Mulder, did you just… bite my butt???” half shocked, half amazed, she tries to look at his face but fails miserably, the position in which she’s tied not allowing her to turn.

“Uh-huh… so juicy…” he kisses the bite open-mouthed, soothing the skin with his lips. “Now you need a match on the other cheek.”

She has no time to anticipate it when he bites hard enough to mark and she gasps again, and now he’s literally laughing against her ass. The situation is so nonsense she’s still trying to process it when he lifts her by the waist and brings her to her knees. Mulder drags his cock first into each bite mark, then across the crack of Scully’s ass, and she moans in expectation. Not once tonight did he penetrate her, and she misses him inside. She almost goes insane with longing when she feels him between her folds, smearing her moist through his length, but the torture ends when without warning he enters her, easy and smooth as cutting through soft butter, to the hilt. Mulder holds himself still for a while, so she adapts to his size – no matter how many times they fuck, she always seems tight – and he focus on not coming too soon, but she urges him to move by bucking her hips. Soon enough, or not soon enough, he’s pumping on her, a rough rhythm that she matches as well as she can being tied and on her knees. A perfectly imperfect harmony of thrusts.

“Can you feel that, Scully? Can you? We’re…”

“… each other’s mould… Oh yeah... Oh Mulder…” They complete each other’s’ thoughts as much as each other’s’ bodies with a smile they can’t see right now, but feel like a warmth spreading through their chests either way. “Mulder, spin me up. I want to see us when we come.”

Scully doesn’t have to ask twice; in a brief impulse he quickly spins her, holding her hips up a bit so he can fuck her deeper while still on his knees. Now their eyes are locked as he shoves inside her again, picking up an impossible tempo, afraid to lose control as he feels his release coming soon. But Mulder won’t leave her unattended, tonight’s for her, not him. So he supports her on his thighs, reaches for her mouth and she sucks his fingers, kissing them as they leave her on their way to her clit. Unlike the loving caress at the tub, he rubs her forcefully in an attempt to match the roughness with which he’s thrusting his cock, and she spirals, and spirals, so differently from the ethereal touching underwater and the larger than life tongue lovemaking of earlier. Right now, her pleasure is primitive.

Scully comes with a guttural scream, unable to even call his name. She’s past conscience, her vision blurs and she thinks for a moment she really passed out, but then she hears Mulder calling her from afar, and the warmth of him spilling inside her core, fulfilling her whole. The next thing she knows her wrists are free from the sash and he’s by her side, cleaning them both with the soft fabric of the robe he pulled from under them, then tossing it on the floor and bringing her to his chest, their legs entwined, moulded in sleepy bliss. 

When Sunday morning comes, Mulder feeds Scully with freshly baked bagels, a generous layer of real cream cheese and hot coffee with cream and two sugars. They cuddle on the couch and together watch the rain that’s pouring again. If it’s a presage for something to come, they don’t know and choose not to think about it. For the moment, they focus on the beating of each other’s heart, setting the tempo for their happiness found.

**Author's Note:**

> Don’t be shy, leave your feedback! Ideas and requests for upcoming stories are most welcome!


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